


First Kiss (with Mary Jane)

by Bullet_Sangwich



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: But it's kinda justified, Drug Use, M/M, Marijuana, Simmons is a little out of character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-05-30 16:25:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15100586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bullet_Sangwich/pseuds/Bullet_Sangwich
Summary: Simmons thought for a moment, then picked up Grif’s helmet and tossed it onto the orange soldier’s stomach. “You’re lucky I’m even considering this, but I’ll let you off the hook. You are on thin fucking ice, but I’m letting this slide because I want a favor in return.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can describe the feeling of getting high better than I can describe anal sex, don't @ me.
> 
> (For real though, I've wanted to see something like this written but there are almost no fics with this kind of subject matter so here I am)

Simmons hated it when Grif got out of sight, Lord knows where the lazy orange soldier had gotten to this time. At least enabling the tracker in Grif’s armor was a good idea, considering their constant spell of shitty ideas. 

The tracker took Simmons out towards the caves in Blood Gulch, Grif’s usual hideout. The last time he found Grif there, Simmons was disturbed, but also mildly impressed, by the decor; mostly because he didn’t think Grif would have been so enthusiastic about decorating, but also because he had no idea where Grif could have gotten that couch. Though that would certainly explain what happened to the one in the common room; there’s no reason he should have had to ask to stretch the budget to afford an entire couch at the last meeting.

A dot appeared in the little round motion tracker in his HUD; Grif was close. Simmons was so ready to kick Grif’s ass back into the base.

Simmons marched through the cave entrance, but the closer he got to Grif, the more he could smell something that wasn’t like Grif’s usual 15:18 cigarette. In fact, it smelled a lot like… marijuana?

How the fuck did Grif get weed in Blood Gulch?? Where the fuck did he get it from??

Simmons approached the hideaway, tucked into the corner of the cave, right by the water. If he were here for any other reason besides busting Grif, he’d probably find this place somewhat therapeutic. 

When Simmons walked up, Grif was without his helmet. He was laying across the couch with what Simmons was 83.27% sure was a joint hanging out of his mouth. Grif turned his head to look at Simmons, knowing he was caught, but not really eager to find out what his next punishment might be.

“What, Simmons? I’m really enjoying my high right now, so if you could hurry it up and figure out how you’re going to tattle to Sarge, that would be great,” said Grif.

“How did you even get that here?!” Simmons asked, exasperated.

“Oh, Simmons. So naive. So innocent. So… virgin-ly,” Grif spoke. “You’ve never even smoked pot, have you?”

Simmons opened his mouth to answer, but Grif interrupted him. “Don’t, it was a rhetorical question.”

Simmons felt a bit of embarrassment. Of course he’d never done that; doesn’t mean he didn’t want to try at one point in his life. He had a very brief rebellious streak towards the end of his high school career, however his father would have done more than disown him if he even thought about it.

“Well, Simmons, you’ve caught me. What now? You’ll bring me back to Sarge and he’ll get working on my court martial for the third time?” Grif asked.

Simmons thought for a moment, then picked up Grif’s helmet and tossed it onto the orange soldier’s stomach. “You’re lucky I’m even considering this, but I’ll let you off the hook. You are on thin fucking ice, but I’m letting this slide because I want a favor in return.”

Grif was taken aback. This was not like Simmons at all.

“What kind of a favor? Is it gay stuff?”

“What? No!”

“I had to ask. Can we rule out the gay stuff?”

“God, you’re so insecure. No, it’s not gay stuff.” Simmons paused, feeling a pre-emptive twinge of regret for what he was about to ask. “Teach me.”

Grif smirked and held a cupped hand next to his ear. “I’m sorry, what did you say? It sounded like you wanted me to teach you something?”

Simmons rolled his eyes. “Yes, jackass. I want you to teach me about smoking weed. I never had the chance to experience it when I was a teenager, and I’m probably going to fucking die in this stupid war, so I may as well cross that one off the list.”

As much as he wanted to give Simmons more shit, Grif couldn’t help but respect that logic. If he was going to die a virgin, at least he would die a cooler virgin.

“Okay, Simmons, I'll help you. We start tomorrow. Meet me back here after your evening patrol and we’ll begin the lesson.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons gets his first lesson.

Simmons did exactly as he was told. He got back to the base after his patrol and headed to his bunk to change. He felt a bit strange about his proposition to Grif; on one hand, he gets to cross something off his pathetically short bucket list, but on the other hand, he had a feeling he should have just reported Grif to Sarge and called it a day. 

And what would Sarge think about all this? Would he be more disappointed that Simmons is trying drugs, or that Simmons is hanging out with Grif?

Simmons shook his head. He didn't want to think about that right now, he made this decision, and he's going to stand by it.

After he changed, he quietly made his way down the hall to get back outside. He passed by Sarge’s room and noted his loud snoring as a sign that he wasn't going to be caught.

When Simmons got to the cave, he noticed that Grif had set out two chairs across from each other. Grif appeared from around a corner and extended his hand in the direction of the chair.

“Sit, young padawan,” said Grif.

Simmons stared hard at Grif. “Really?” he asked.

“Hey man, you signed up for this. You wanted a teacher? You're getting a master.”

Simmons rolled his eyes and sat down. Grif circled his chair a few times before sitting in his own.

“Where would you like to start?” asked Grif.

“Well,” Simmons started, rubbing the back of his head. “I don't know anything about this. This is my first time.”

“Shocker.”

“Shut up. Anyway, I don't know where to start. That's why I asked you in the first place, I hoped you would know.”

Grif grinned. “Of course I do. I've been smoking for years.”

Simmons watched as Grif moved to the couch, reaching underneath and pulling out a small box. When he sat back down, Simmons could see that the box had a lock on it. Grif unlocked the box and stuffed inside was a large sack of weed, small papers, and a lighter, as well as something wrapped in a velvety piece of cloth.

“Jesus Christ! That looks like a lot!” Simmons exclaimed.

“This? This was a lot bigger last week,” Grif said, nonchalantly. 

Simmons’ jaw dropped. Grif looked up at his friend's face and laughed. 

Grif finished arranging his belongings and displayed it, marijuana on Simmons’ left, paper in the middle, and lighter on the right. “This is what I like to describe as ‘The Circle of Life’: the weed goes in the paper, the paper is rolled, and then it is lit and smoked.” Simmons nodded in understanding. 

Grif continued. “You also have two options for rolling depending on your paper. If you have smaller rolling papers, you can roll a joint. If you have a blunt wrap, you can roll a blunt.”

Simmons felt like he was getting a little lost in the terminology, but he was keeping up as best he could. “I think I'm starting to understand, but what's the difference between the small papers and a blunt wrap?”

“I'm sure I know the answer to this, but have you ever smoked a Prime Time?” Grif asked.

“No,” Simmons replied, “But I did have a friend who smoked them. So, I think I know what you're getting at.”

"Wow, Simmons! You had a friend?"

"Fuck you! I have friends! Plural!"

Grif smiled. “All right, settle down. To answer your question, that is the difference between these small papers and a blunt wrap.” He packed everything up back in to his box, to Simmons’ surprise.

“I thought that was what we were starting with?”

“No, no,” said Grif, wagging his finger. “Joints and blunts are just a bit advanced for a beginner. They're just my personal favorite. This is what we're starting with.”

Grif pulled out the piece of cloth; he unraveled it, revealing an intricate glass piece. “We're starting with a pipe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of this story mapped out so I'm figuring a weekly release is best.


	3. Chapter 3

Grif kneeled in front of Simmons, holding the pipe carefully. Simmons admired it; the pipe was rather large in size, and the glass had been blown with other red, green and white pieces of glass, making it look marbled. The head of the piece had some curved parts around the top, shaped to look like tentacles.

“This is Medusa.” Grif announced proudly. “Do you like her?”

“You named your pipe?” Simmons countered.

Grif’s expression turned sour. “Whatever.”

Simmons laughed to himself. “I do like the way it looks, it kinda reminds me of a dragon.”

“Settle down, nerd.” Grif gingerly handed the pipe over to Simmons, allowing him to examine it for himself. He noticed a small hole on the side of the bowl.

“What’s this for?” Simmons asked, handing back the pipe.

“That is called the carb. When you light the bowl, you inhale while covering the carb. When you’re done lighting it, you uncover it and inhale the rest of the smoke. Like so.”

Grif demonstrated; he put the pipe to his lips and began to inhale as he lit the bowl. He took a very quick hit, only lighting it briefly before removing the lighter and moving his thumb from the carb, inhaling the smoke inside.

“See?” Grif said, holding his breath.

Simmons nodded. It looked easy enough.

“This one happens to be on the larger side of pipes, but it's virtually the same idea. Really easy to use, and honestly the best start for a beginner,” Grif explained. “I need to pack a new bowl, but after that, we'll start.”

Grif set down the pipe and went to the couch, lifting one of the cushions and picking up a little metal ball from the corner of the couch. When he brought it back over, Simmons noticed it looked familiar.

“Is that the Death Star?”

Grif grinned. “It sure is. It serves a dual purpose though, because not only is it cool to look at, but it also does this!” He unscrewed it, opening it to reveal prongs. “It's my grinder!”

“Wow. And you thought I was a nerd.”

“I'm allowed to enjoy things too, you know,” Grif said flatly. He reached into the bag of weed, pulled out a medium sized nugget and placed it in the bottom half of the grinder. He twisted it several times, then opened it back up to reveal the ground up weed.

“Now that I've ground it up, I'll take it out and pack the bowl. However, I need to clear the bowl out before I pack it, because I don't want this gross shit in there.”  
Grif gripped the pipe from the shaft and slapped the bowl on his empty hand. Simmons watched as the ash fell to the ground as Grif slapped the bowl a few more times. 

Once he inspected it and decided it was ready, Grif carefully packed the bowl. Simmons could swear this was the most concentration he would probably ever see from the lazy soldier.

Grif slapped his hands together, proud of his work. He picked up the pipe, cradling it in both hands, offering it up to Simmons as if he was about to send him on a quest and was handing him a magical sword. 

“It is time.”

Simmons took a deep breath. He was nervous; he'd never done anything this "illegal" before. Ever since he was a teenager, Simmons had a secret, rebellious desire to partake in this activity, but he knew his dad would have disowned him if he even looked at someone who could help him out. Hell, his dad regularly drug tested him anyway, he would have never gotten away with it even if he tried.

He took the pipe and held it exactly as Grif instructed. Grif handed him his lighter.

Simmons flicked the lighter on and hovered it over the green, skunky substance that glowed red as it ignited. He made sure to remove his thumb from the carb, but he sucked in too large of a breath, he knew it, Grif knew it too. Simmons moved the pipe away, trying to keep the smoke in, but he felt a burn at the back of his throat and couldn't help but let the smoke billow out of his mouth as he coughed.

He coughed and coughed and the burn was there, getting more intense and Simmons felt like he couldn't breathe. While he was distracted with trying not to die, Grif padded over to the side of the couch and came back with a soda, shoving it in Simmons' hand.

"Drink this," Grif said. "Sorry I don't have water."

Simmons took the soda and gulped half the can down. He managed to stifle his coughing when he finished drinking.

"You know there's water in the base, right? Like coming out of the sink?"

"It’s too far," Grif said.

Simmons looked over at Grif and began to giggle at his deadpan expression. An expression which softened when he began to laugh at Simmons, who in turn laughed harder and louder at Grif laughing at him. They continued for another minute before finally settling down into a comfortable silence. 

"Do you want another hit?" Grif asked, holding his pipe out to Simmons. He nodded, gingerly taking the glass piece out of Grif's hand. 

Simmons felt a bit more practiced this time, hitting the pipe almost like a pro. He passed it back to Grif, holding his breath in, then slowly exhaling. Grif watched as he did this, nodding silently, as if he was judging Simmons' form.

Simmons and Grif passed the bowl back and forth until the last hit; Simmons got it and grimaced at the sour taste. "That face right there means it's cached," Grif said, taking his pipe back and quickly packing a new bowl. 

Simmons relaxed in his seat, eyes half lidded and wandering across the smoky cave. He felt like he finally understood what it meant to be glued to his seat; he imagined that if he stood up right now, he might fall over because the high he was feeling was just that good. The burning was still at the back of his throat, but he didn't care. 

Grif smiled. “Now that you've smoked for the first time, how do you feel?”

Simmons turned to look at Grif. He didn't have to say anything, Grif knew what stage of being stoned Simmons was currently in. Melting into the chair is pretty high on the scale. "Oh my fucking God, Simmons. You are so high."

"Fuck you, you're high!" said Simmons, who was so high he did not realizing he was speaking quite loudly.

Grif laughed. "I still can't believe you wanted to smoke with me. This doesn't really seem like your cup of nerd juice."

Simmons blushed a little. "To be honest with you, I've wanted to try this for a long time. I never had the chance, especially with my dad breathing down my neck and constantly drug testing me so I can make the sports teams I didn't want to be on." Simmons paused briefly. "That, and after I caught you, I knew you wouldn't pass up an opportunity like this.”

"That's fair," Grif replied. He picked up his pipe and hit it again, offering it to Simmons, who declined. 

“I think I need to be done for a while,” Simmons said.

“That's fine. In fact,” Grif began, “We should head back to base. Now that you're high, we can participate in watching shitty movies while stoned.”

“Okay,” Simmons replied. He tried for what felt like an eternity to get out of his chair, while Grif stood there and laughed at him.

“Come on,” Grif said, extending his hand. Simmons stared up at him, grabbing his hand. He stood up, still gazing at Grif. They were standing a little close; Simmons felt a warmth pooling in his belly. He blushed a little, but was a bit relieved that Grif didn't seem to notice. He let go of Grif’s hand and began to follow him back to base.

When they arrived, they went straight to the common room and Simmons dropped onto the couch. Sitting there, he stared out into space, feeling the warmth recede. He wondered what that feeling was, but soon that pondering was replaced with a gnawing in his stomach. 

Grif soon arrived, depositing an assortment of snack foods on the coffee table. “Oh my God, it's like you knew,” Simmons said.

“Munchies, right? Gotta love ‘em!” Grif said.

He sat down next to Simmons on the couch, accidentally brushing their knees together. Simmons felt a wave of electricity wash over him at the contact. He suddenly was alert, but Grif didn't notice the movement and was instead focused on whatever shitty movie he turned on.

Simmons relaxed a little, but was still acutely aware of every time Grif’s knee made the slightest contact with his own.

By the end of the movie, Simmons was on the downswing of his high and became very tired. He noticed the time was 02:00; he needed to be up and on duty by 06:00.

“I'm going to my bunk,” Simmons said. 

“Okay, Simmons,” replied Grif. “We'll pick this back up tomorrow. Same time?”

Simmons smiled softly. He was looking forward to it. “Yeah, same time. Although it's technically today, not tomorrow.”

“Whatever, nerd. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Grif.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons is almost too tired to have another lesson with Grif the following evening. Donut thinks he knows what's going on.

Thanks to hitting his bunk quite late in the evening, Simmons spent his morning duty feeling a bit groggy. He fell asleep pretty quickly when he got there, but since he was running on four-ish hours of sleep, he wondered if he should cancel his smoke session with Grif for the day and catch up on his sleep.

Simmons approached his post and stood there for a few minutes. While there, he tried to concentrate on a few strategies he had in mind regarding upkeep of their defenses, but found his thoughts fogging over. He wondered if it had anything to do with his lack of sleep, or if it was because of the smoke session several hours ago.

He moved on to his next post, and on the way, Simmons spied Grif heading back to the cave. Curious, he bypassed the post and followed Grif in.

Simmons made no attempt to muffle himself; as far as he was concerned, he was more or less authorized to be here now that Grif was “tutoring” him.

“What are you doing? Shouldn't you be on duty as well?” Simmons asked.

Grif turned to him. “Well, you say duty, but we both know that I should still be asleep.”

“Except you shouldn't be, fatass.”

Though Grif's helmet was on, Simmons knew he was being shot a very dry look.

“Anyway,” Grif continued, “I had some ‘paraphernalia’ stashed away in my bunk that I wanted to move out here for a future lesson.”

“Speaking of which,” Simmons started, “I think I might need to skip tonight. We ran super late last night and I'd like to just catch up on my sleep.”

“As much as I want to give you shit, I can appreciate the value of taking a nap first,” said Grif. “I'm gonna come out here anyway, so if you find yourself with an adequate amount of rest and want to come out, feel free.”

Simmons nodded, turning to leave Grif. He took a few steps towards the exit of the cave before spinning back around and speaking. “Just out of curiosity, what was the next lesson going to be?”

Grif reached into his box and held up two small joints. “These. They're kinda small, so I rolled two.”

Simmons had seen joints before, largely towards the end of his high school years. He was asked at one point if he'd like to try, but he was so scared of what his father would do that he passed on the offer.

Simmons felt a flashback of anxiety for a minute, but he took a deep breath and looked up at Grif. “I'll let you know if I'm going to come by.”

Moments after Simmons left the cave, Grif heard an echo.

“And get your fat ass to work!”

* * *

 

At the end of his day, Simmons knew he'd be out like a light when he hit the pillow. He got to his bunk fairly early in the afternoon and plunked himself down on his bed after removing his armor. When he laid down, he got cozy and shut his eyes. 

And then he opened them. And stared at the wall. For  _ hours _ .

Simmons rolled on to his back and stared at the ceiling, as if that was any better scenery. Since he wasn't sleeping, he thought about the true benefit of meeting up with Grif. 

_ Maybe the smoke session will help put me to sleep _ , thought Simmons.

He laid there for another minute before deciding to get up, and as he stood, there was a knock. Simmons approached the door, opening it to find Donut standing there. “Hi, Simmons!”

Simmons rubbed his tired eyes. “Hi, Donut.”

“Everything okay? You look like you were ridden hard and put away wet!”

Ugh. “Grif and I were up late watching movies. I didn't go to bed until 0200 this morning and now I can't even get some sleep.”

“An impromptu movie night? And you didn't invite me! How rude, Simmons, how rude.”

Simmons sighed, trying to find the best way to describe this to Donut without revealing what he and Grif were actually doing. He'd had enough of Donut's anti-drug lingo for one lifetime.

“Listen, Donut. Grif and I were..” He paused, contemplating his next words, “We were trying something new. And it was something that required a little alone time.”

Donut stared for a moment, not speaking. Simmons’ face heated up. He hated being put on the spot.

“Ooooooooh. I understand!” Donut exclaimed. “You guys needed your alone time.”

Simmons let out the breath he'd been holding. Thank god he made it through that one. “Right! We did. We needed alone time.”

“I won't pester you any more tonight, Simmons. I understand what's going on completely,” Donut said with a wink. “I'm sure you're anxious to see him again.”

Simmons felt a knot in his stomach. Thinking about it, he was anxious to go back to the cave and relax with Grif. It almost felt like he couldn't wait to get out there. Like he wanted to shoo Donut away so he could go now. “I am, actually. In fact, if you don't mind, I'd like to change so I can.”

Donut was beaming. “Absolutely! Let me know if you need anything!” He shut the door behind him, the clunk of his armored boots getting quieter as he strolled down the hall. 

_ I am so happy for Grif and Simmons!  _ Donut thought to himself. _ I a _ _ lways knew they would get together eventually! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it's me, back at it after nearly a year :')


	5. Chapter 5

Grif headed to the caves some time after his last evening patrol, excited for a chance to finally chill after a long, hard day of chilling.

He got in to the cave and sat down on his stolen couch, reaching underneath to grab his lock box. When he unlocked it, Grif immediately went for his newest item, the item he stashed earlier in the day. He pulled out the clear package holding his prize; a big, soft chocolate chip cookie. Grif saved up a lot of favors in order to get this edible. He opened the package, smelling his sweet, albeit slightly skunky, treat.

“Oh, yes.” Grif said. “You will be mine.”

He split the cookie in two, placing one half back into the package, and setting the other half on the vacant couch cushion. When he put everything away, he settled in to the couch and popped the remaining half of his cookie into his mouth. He chewed, every morsel tasting of sweet chocolate along with an earthy taste belonging to the weed. He was in heaven.

Grif shut his eyes and relaxed, awaiting the moment his high would hit him like a ton of bricks. Just as he expected, about 30 minutes later, Grif was in his own world. He spent a lot of time thinking about religion and the afterlife, growing more and more eager to have this discussion when Simmons arrives.

At that time, he remembers that Simmons wouldn't be joining him that evening. 

“That totally sucks,” he says to nobody. “I wish he'd come smoke with me.”

Grif thought about what he'd just said. He never normally wishes for anything, let alone more time with Simmons. In fact, if it were up to Grif, he'd wish to be literally anywhere other than Blood Gulch. He would honestly take being stuck 75 light years away from home á la Voyager over being at Blood Gulch.

Grif knew which direction his mind was headed and, he thought, surely if it's in his own head, no one has to know he thought this. He allowed his mind to ease a bit as he quietly admitted.

“I do hope Simmons comes.”

* * *

Thankful that Donut wasn't anywhere nearby after their strange conversation, Simmons headed out to the cave to meet Grif.

He took the same precautions he did the night before, sneaking past Sarge's bunk and waiting for the cue of loud snoring before moving on. 

When he got to the cave, Grif's head was hanging off the back of the couch, his eyes were shut. Simmons giggled a little; of course Grif was already blissed out. On the adjacent table, Grif's lock box was left open a bit, with something poking out of it, looking like it would prevent the box from closing. He lifted the lid a little and saw half of a cookie inside.

It wasn't like Grif to not finish a whole cookie, especially one that looked that good. 

As Simmons lowered the lid, he turned back to look at Grif, whose eyes were wide open and mouth was in a large grin.

“Simmons! You came!” Grif said, enthusiastically. “I'm really glad.”

Simmons definitely knew Grif was on another plane, there was no way he would really be that excited to see him. “What's with the cookie? Awfully unlike you to leave food unfinished.”

Grif looked at the box. “Oh, that? It's an edible.”

“So it's a pot cookie?”

“Yep.”

Simmons sat on the couch next to Grif. “When do you want to start?”

Without answering, Grif scooped up his box and pulled his joints from inside, handing one to Simmons.

“I get one all to myself?” Simmons asked.

“If you want to get good at this, you need to learn how to light a joint the right way,” Grif replied.

Grif grabbed his lighter and lit the small, twisted tip of his expertly rolled joint. With it lit, Grif puffed it twice, sucking in a harsh breath, then slowly exhaling smoke.

Simmons realized he was staring the same time Grif did. He blinked and put the joint between his lips, his hands slightly trembling. He gently took the lighter from Grif's hand and ignited it, but struggled to light the joint.

Grif laughed softly, watching Simmons try entirely too hard. “Stop,” he said.

Grif moved closer to Simmons, securing his joint between his lips and between his fingers for added support. He leaned in to Simmons’ face and maneuvered the lit end of his joint towards the unlit end of Simmons’, igniting it. Grif knew this motion was entirely unnecessary, but something about it felt right. He felt like he wanted to be closer to Simmons, but he didn't know  _ why _ .

Simmons puffed a few times, leaning back in the couch, and letting out the smoke in a long, drawn out exhale. He felt the back of the couch shift as Grif relaxed next to him. He shut his eyes, and behind his eyelids was the image of Grif leaning in close. What was that for?

Simmons opened his eyes, the impending high beginning to fuzz the edges of his brain. His gaze wandered over to Grif, who was taking another drag; Grif held the smoke in his mouth, exhaling slowly while inhaling it with his nose. 

Simmons found that to be an interesting trick. “What was that, Grif?”

Grif turned to look at Simmons, shifting himself on the couch. He took another hit, performing the same trick again. “Like that? That's called a French Inhale. You exhale slowly from your mouth and inhale the smoke through your nose at the same time.”

Simmons took a drag. He tried to do it, but he inhaled too quickly, barely catching any of the smoke with his nose and instead blowing it towards his eyes.

Grif laughed at him. “It has to be slow. Watch.”

Grif inhaled, turning this lesson into a performance. Simmons leaned in, trying to observe.

Simmons watched the smoke in Grif's mouth, suspended. Grif exhaled, allowing a little to come out at a time. He began to inhale, directing the smoke in through his nostrils.

Simmons felt his stomach turn. He was experiencing something he'd never really explored before. For whatever reason, watching Grif do this was just so… sexy.

His face got hotter. With his eyes trailing up from Grif's mouth, Simmons’ eyes locked with Grif's. They stared at each other, with trails of smoke slightly obscuring Grif's eyes.

No more smoke came out of Grif's mouth. Simmons was still staring.

They instinctively backed away, mirroring each other as they settled back into the couch cushions.

“So,” Simmons said, awkwardly breaking the silence. “What now?”

“Hmm,” Grif said. “We could keep sitting here.”

"Well, what do you normally do?"

"I don't know, to be honest. It's been a long time since I've had a smoking buddy." Grif went silent for a moment. "Besides watching shitty movies, I don't really know what to do." 

Simmons stood up, took a rather long drag of his joint, and blew the smoke away. "Wanna go sit on top of the base?"

Grif took his remaining hit before putting out the joint and throwing the leftover nub in his box. "That sounds good."


End file.
